Three Conversations
by keru.m
Summary: A chance encounter leads to three conversations.
1. Siren Song

Disclaimer: Don't own'em.

A/N: I really do need to explain myself here. So here goes. Initially, I wasn't such a huge fan of Mic's. Then I re-watched 'Life or Death' (the one where Mic goes back to the RAN – or you may remember it better as the one where Mac and Mic go to dinner, and see Harm join Renee for a repast) and then I re-watched 'Boomerang' and (please don't hate me) I thought Mic was kind of cute and endearing, although still persistent in a 'omg, what was that' kind of way. He really did try hard, and his speech to Mac on the boat about her hooking up with 'a knocker' like him … I felt terrible because he really did love Mac deeply in his own simple 'love-at-first-sight-no-holds-barred' kind of way. And then when Mic gave it all up and moved to DC and ended up as a 'Sue Navy' lawyer I was rather bummed, because it seemed a blatantly tendentious effort at making Brumby unsympathetic. Now, within the JAG framework, with Harm as male lead who secretly (and it seemed he himself wasn't in on the secret for a long while) had the hots – alright fine: conflicting feelings – for Mac, it made perfect sense: can't have viewers wanting Mac to marry Mic, for goodness sakes. But that doesn't mean I didn't feel terribly awful for Mic. You might obviously not agree with me on this and think I'm being too kind. Anyways, this story started with ruminations on Mic.

Fear not, I'm fully aware that Mac was never ready to marry anyone whose name didn't start with H, end with M and have and AR in between.

Also, I've always found the Harm vs. Mic thing hilarious, on many levels.

Now that the rationalization/justification is out of the way: This is set after the Season 10 opener – where Harm walks away on the beach and after Mac says 'let me come to you'. Pretend they're in that mindframe. Oh, and pretend Mattie already left, because otherwise she throws a massive wrench into things (as teenagers are wont to do, haha).

I am so curious to hear what you think of this.

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**Three Conversations**

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**One: ****Siren Song**

JAG HQ

Friday

1425 Local

Harm crossed the bullpen, heading to Bud's office to discuss a possible plea for a case they'd been assigned. His quick stride slowed and then stopped when he heard the soft sound of Mac's laughter drift from her office. That was a rare sound to hear these days. And today … he looked at her office, and saw her and Bud together, smiling and laughing. It was not her most sincere smile, or her most heartfelt laugh, but the sound and the sight nonetheless brought a slow smile to his face.

They were making progress, he told himself, knowing the thought was a more a comfort than a truth. He'd noticed how introspective and quiet she'd been this week, and he hadn't liked it. Worse still, he hadn't known how to pull her out of her funk. There was a time when he could just tease and smile and she'd pretend to be annoyed and tease back and all was right with the world.

This new dynamic in their relationship was frustrating and upsetting and he didn't know what to do.

He would've liked to just shut the blinds, lock her door, pull her out of her chair and hug her so tightly she'd have no room left for the sadness and insecurities that had dug their trenches around her heart and set up camp.

He wished her demons had physical form so he could beat the crap out of them, hold their defeated, conquered forms up for her to see, and say: 'Here, look! This is what I would do for you! Let me in!'

But everyone knew demons had no shape: they wove themselves right into the good parts of a person, and that's why it was so damn hard to pin them in your sights and open fire.

So he quietly worried over her, over what he could do for her, how he could help her; silence steadily nourishing his impatience and frustration. He was not the kind to wait on things, to be the audience, sitting on the sidelines. And she used silence like a shield, a barrier, and there was nothing he could think to do to break it, no way to beat down the damn walls that she'd erected to keep him out. Keep everyone out.

On some days, when she smiled – a dimmed version of her real smile – and laughed – an even more reserved version of her subdued laugh – he could almost convince himself that everything was going to be okay. But today, he couldn't. Not today, when it seemed the only progress they were making was in standing still, doing nothing.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how this would turn out. He hoped it would turn out well. He couldn't be sure, though, and that terrified him in ways he couldn't even admit to himself. This failure would be another one of those that would define him. That in itself had him craving some form of reassurance. The problem was that the one person who normally tasked herself with offering the kind of perspective he needed wasn't herself anymore.

So it was all her fault. Hers. Over their years knowing each other, being friends, she had always understood him better than most, had comforted him so readily and easily and sometimes without even realizing it, so that now when all he needed was her reassurance – a smile, a nod, a knowing look – she was not herself and he felt the loss more keenly. And it was his fault for letting her become a steadfast presence in his life. Letting her in, without letting her know that he'd done it, so that now they were as far apart as two people in the same room could be, and she wasn't letting him come any closer.

So today was not a good day, even though he could now see her smiling and laughing with Bud in her office.

But what could he do? He had no idea how to set the bar for progress higher than a silent ceasefire, a break in the negotiations.

Harm shook himself out of his thoughts, suddenly rather depressed with the way the day was shaping up. But enough. The middle of the bullpen was hardly the place for taking stock of his relationship with Mac. He had all night to wallow in regret and missed opportunities, and wait for Mac to realize that she could talk to him.

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National Mall

Friday

2039 Local

Harm sat on a bench outside the National Air and Space Museum, wondering if he should've called Mac and asked her if she wanted to tag along. He wasn't sure if she would've agreed, but at least the call would have served her as a reminder of him. On nights like this, when he wanted nothing more than her undemanding, uncomplicated company, he wondered if she was forgetting him.

Uncomplicated. It was hardly a word that defined them, and yet he always thought when the two of them just sat silently, in the same room, doing their own thing, that she was the only uncomplicated, undemanding woman he'd ever met. He laughed quietly, wondering how much of his thoughts were just shaped by the loneliness he couldn't seem to shake himself out of. It didn't matter though, he still missed her company.

Harm sighed. He had to stop depressing himself with these kinds of thoughts. Everything would be fine. Eventually. She would come to him as she always did, and he'd never let her get away again. All he had to do was wait.

"Rabb?" Harm turned at the sound of his name being pronounced in a very surprised and distinctly Australian accent.

"Brumby?" Harm stared incredulously at the man standing beside him. What in hell was this.

Brumby broke out into a grin. "Fancy meeting you here, mate."

"What're you doing in DC?" It wasn't the most polite way to greet a person, but seeing Bugme in DC did not bring back good memories. In fact, Harm thought with dismay, it just reminded him of the price he'd paid by keeping things between him and Mac in neutral. They'd been doing just great until they'd met their first real obstacle – the neck-breaking ravine that began with Singer and Lindsey. They'd completely lost control of everything because they'd only been coasting in the first place. And the one guy who could put the colossal amount of time he and Mac had wasted into proper perspective was standing beside him. Damn it, this day just kept getting worse and worse.

"Duty. Just finished two weeks advising our rep here in DC on some jurisdictional issues." Mic replied easily, oblivious to Harm's thoughts. He put out a hand and Harm shook it, but only because he was a gentleman.

"How are you doing, Rabb? Still at JAG?" Mic took a seat beside him, and Harm did his best not to be annoyed. After all, he couldn't really blame Mic for much. Except proposing to Mac, convincing her to accept, almost marrying her, and then hurting her by leaving abruptly. Come to think of it, he had damn fantastic reasons for being pissed at Brumby. But he still tried to act civil, if only because Mic had left before marrying her.

Harm nodded. "Chegwidden retired. We have a Marine CO."

Mic laughed that same, easy and carefree laugh he laughed all those years ago. Now Harm was trying his best not to be envious of Mic's good mood. How the hell did the guy get over Mac enough to be able to sit, here in DC, on a bench beside the biggest threat to his almost-marriage and laugh?

"I bet Sarah's loving that! Is she still there, too?"

Harm's envy evaporated at the wistful edge to Mic's question. So the man did still think of Mac. Not that he could blame him.

"Yes." To his credit – Harm congratulated himself – he really was trying his best to be civil.

"So the Admiral pulled some strings, did he?" Mic leaned forward on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the ground between his feet.

"What do you mean?" Harm asked, confused.

"To keep you two together." Mic turned his head slightly to look at Harm. "After you got married."

Harm decided that the lows to which this day could sink knew no bounds.

"Uh…" He stumbled over his words, half upset that Mic was again reminding him of all that hadn't yet happened, half embarrassed by having to admit to Mic all that hadn't happened yet. "We … we're, uh, not married." Just fantastic, he berated himself. He was coming across like a moron to a man he really didn't like, despite his best efforts to be friendly. Well, he amended: despite moderate efforts. Okay, he could be honest: despite some minimal effort.

"So," Mic continued casually. "Still dating because of the regulations? How long's it been, mate? JAG isn't that important, you know."

Harm thought of a few expletives he would love to say out loud. This day sucked.

"Ah," He cleared his throat, suddenly wondering why the hell he was answering Mic's questions. "Actually, we're not … ah… involved in that way."

Brumby straightened in his seat, and glared at Harm in silence. If he had to guess at what Mic was feeling at this moment, Harm would say two parts angry, one part furious.

"You didn't marry her, Rabb." He ground out the words and Harm was reminded of those tunnel boring machines.

"What?" He asked, unsure as to why Mic was so upset with him for _no__t_ marrying Mac.

"You know, Rabb, I always knew you were an arrogant, self-serving, immature bastard," Mic ranted, catching Harm off guard with the vitriol behind his tirade. "But I never thought—"

"Watch your mouth, Brumby." Harm warned, cutting him off, his tone hard. Where the hell did Brumby get off. "There's no Admiral here to cover your ass."

Instead of taking the anticipated swing, Harm was surprised when Brumby simply shook his head in disgust.

"Why the hell aren't you two married?" He asked, looking like a man who'd just had the wool pulled back from over his eyes, and didn't like what he was suddenly seeing.

Harm didn't want to answer that question. He didn't like the answer, really.

"Because." He said stubbornly. "It's none of your damned business, Brumby." Harm was about to leave when Mic began to speak, and the soft tone in the other man's voice caught his curiosity. He watched Mic apprehensively.

"You know." Mic said, staring pensively at the people who were walking by. "With Sarah, I always felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall. Every piece of her that she gave to me, I had to earn. Like drawing blood from stone. Every time I saw a piece though, it was damn well worth the effort. And I could have lived with that. Happily ever after, and all that. Except I always felt she was offering those same pieces to you, so easily, so readily. I couldn't live with that. Thought I could. But, hell," Again, he shook his head in disgust, but Harm couldn't tell who it was directed at. "Couldn't do it."

Harm stayed silent. But he shared Brumby's sentiment about drawing blood from stone. He wondered if it meant that Mac saw him as no different from Brumby? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. How often had she come to him, to talk, instead of going anywhere else? That was the truth he'd hold on to. This, what they were going through, was a temporary setback.

Brumby continued, still lost in some distant sight. "I was sure you two'd be married. Have a couple of kids. The all-American picket fence dream Sarah wanted."

Harm shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly Mic turned on the bench and zeroed in his attention on him, studying him intently.

"You do want to marry her, don't you?"

Harm avoided looking at Mic, his annoyance mounting steadily. Where the hell did the man get off being so damn nosy. "Look, Brumby—"

"I knew it!" Brumby exclaimed, vindicated.

Harm glared at Mic, in silence, and tried not to punch the man. For reasons he didn't care to examine too closely, Mic brought out the more physically aggressive instincts in him – and he thought he was a pretty level-headed kind of guy. Usually.

"Come on." Mic stood up and waved an arm towards the nearby street. "I'll buy you a drink."

Harm looked at Mic, startled by the sudden offer. "What the hell for?"

Mic shrugged lightly as his gaze drifted towards the Washington Monument. Harm thought he detected a hint of a smile. "We're both not married to the same woman."

Harm scoffed audibly. Like that reason would get him to go to a bar with Mic. He'd rather have his balls put through a vice.

"I have somewhere I need to be, Brumby." Harm stood up himself and nodded in the general direction of the Metro station.

"You do hold a grudge, Rabb." Mic turned to face Harm and studied him. "Come on. It's been how many years? So, she agreed to marry me. Didn't get me anywhere, mate. You fell out of the sky and Sarah called off our wedding." He paused, grinned. "Hell, come to think of it, you should be the one buying me a drink."

Harm couldn't think of a way to get out of the situation. Ah, what the hell. He resigned himself to the inevitable: his day couldn't possibly get any worse. He might as well get a drink out of it. Hell, maybe a drink would be good, even if the company probably wouldn't. And it'd be a story to tell … someone. Keeter would probably get a great laugh out of this; he'd laughed for a solid five minutes when Harm had told him about their non-judicial punishment Down Under.

"First round's on you, Brumby." Harm stated as he set off for the nearest bar he could think of.

"That's fair. She did agree to marry me before calling it off because of you. Second round's on you, though, mate." Mic replied, falling into step.

They crossed the National Mall and made their way to the bar in silence. The whole situation was just plain weird as far as Harm was concerned. But Mac wasn't married – more importantly she wasn't married to Brumby – and that was a comforting thought. The wedding had been called off. If all Brumby wanted in return was a couple of beers instead of, say, stringing him up by his thumbnails in a cage full of kangaroos, Harm wasn't going to complain.

--

The Confederation Pub

Washington DC

2145 Local

Harm was seated at the bar, next to Mic, their empties lined up in front of them. If he'd thought the situation was weird over an hour ago, then right now it had clearly veered off from bizarre and right into just plain mindboggling.

He'd never thought he'd find himself sitting at a bar on a Friday night with Brumby, of all people, trying to drink the man under the table. The small itty-bitty part of him that was not as inebriated as the rest of him figured it was probably a not-so-subtle game of one-upmanship between the two, even though their original reason for seeking to one-up each other was sitting oblivious in her apartment, probably not even thinking of either of them.

But this had to be the most peculiarly, bizarrely astonishing situation Harm had ever found himself in. He and Brumby had gone from the polite, reserved small-talk of the sober – "How's work," "How's Australia," "Some weather we're having, huh?" "I never understood cricket," "I never understood baseball," – passed right by the slightly less reserved talk that a couple of beers could encourage – "Bud and Harriet have how many kids?" "White shorts are not a dignified uniform for Navy officers" "Imes wasn't a real lawyer?" "Yeah, I tried that same brand of protein shakes. Worked well until the side effects kicked in" – and right into the kind of talk that the tiny itty-bitty part of Harm that was not as inebriated as the rest knew neither of them would ever otherwise divulge. That talk centered around one Marine they both had in common.

"The worst part is," Brumby said forlornly – or maybe it was the alcohol talking, "I'm still not over her. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever marry." Mic turned to Harm and shook his finger at him in warning. "Don't tell her I told you so. She'd find a way to blame herself."

"You're still not over her?" Harm asked, his tongue feeling rather sluggish.

"You've known her longer than I have." Mic pointed out. "Are you over her?"

Harm knew the answer to that, but couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, sober or not. Instead he scratched at the label on his bottle and remained silent.

"I was hours away from marrying her." Brumby continued. "You come that close?"

"Nowhere near." Harm said despondently.

"So," Mic signalled to the bartender for another bottle. "Why aren't you married?"

The question was surprisingly sobering. Although, as that tiny itty-bitty part of Harm reminded the rest of him, if he was sober he probably wouldn't be sitting here with Mic talking about his relationship with Mac.

"A lot happened the last couple of years." He took a large swig of his beer and shook the empty at the bartender, requesting another.

"That's a new one," The sarcasm in Brumby's voice earned him a frown from Harm.

"It's true," He replied, fully ready to defend himself before pausing in mid-thought. Well, it _was_ true but he could concede that there was more to this particular truth. "I took too long. She doesn't want that with me anymore."

"I find that hard to believe." Brumby mumbled, sounding both sceptical and just a tad resentful.

"Me too," Harm agreed. "Me too."

He took a swig from his new bottle, and tried to count the empties to see just how much he'd drank. Halfway through, his eyes caught on a poster advertising some brand of beer. The poster displayed the image of a large wave cresting in the ocean. Harm's thoughts drifted.

"She's like a siren song. You know?" He said suddenly.

Mic grunted his agreement. "Do I ever … and beautiful, too..." There was a slight pause while he drank his beer. "You two ever, you know."

"I am not answering that." If mobility had been a slightly less daunting prospect, Harm would have swivelled on his stool and glared at Mic. "And if I could see straight, I'd knock your teeth out for asking."

"I'll take that as a no." Mic said, ignoring Harm's threat. He took a long sip of his beer. "You ever seen her tattoo?"

"I plead the fifth." Harm said. He hadn't anticipated that Mic would to fall into that kind of talk. If it continued, he'd have to leave. He didn't think he could bear to hear another man speak of Mac in such a way, sober or not.

"That's an evasive answer, mate."

"That's all you'll get, buddy." Harm warned.

They sat in silence for awhile, Brumby apparently letting the line of inquiry drop.

"I would've arm-wrestled you for her." Brumby offered up, rather randomly in Harm's opinion.

"I would've won." Harm responded.

"Like hell you would've." Brumby turned to look at Harm, his expression challenging.

Harm shrugged. "She'd have killed us both for suggesting it."

Mic clinked his beer bottle to Harm's in acknowledgement of that truism.

"I went easy on you when we stripped blouses." Harm said after a moment, challenging Brumby right back.

"Like hell you did. I'm a trained boxer. I went easy on you." Brumby responded, his words heavy with drink. "I'm not cruel. Apart from your looks, you don't have much else going for you."

"You're lucky everything's blurry." Harm tried to turn and face the upstart Aussie.

"Right back at ya." Brumby replied. They clinked bottles again.

Again, they lapsed into silence. Harm realized he was done with his bottle and ordered another. Brumby did the same.

"You're just afraid." Brumby said in what Harm thought was a surprisingly clear way for a man who'd just drunk one … two … three …

Harm pulled away from counting the empties when he saw Brumby staring at him.

"What?" He asked, on his guard.

"This whole JAG thing. The Navy." Brumby replied, returning his attention to his beer. "You're afraid that having Sarah would mean giving all that up. It's just a boj … meant job." His words once again a little slurred. "Just a job."

Harm remained silent, trying to grasp a thought that seemed to be just beyond his reach. He also hadn't anticipated Brumby getting all mouthy and talkative over a few beers. He listened with half an ear, busy trying to catch that still-elusive thought.

"You're a fool, Rabb. You put your life into your boj, your job … now you can't even tell yourself apart from your … you know…" he fluttered his fingers in front of him in a gesture Harm didn't understand. "Your wings." Brumby said loudly, looking pleased that he'd remembered the word. "It's no way to live. But then, you are an obsessive bugger." Mic warmed to his subject and, Harm's distantly noted, became more cogent. "That, mate, means she's better off without you. You'd put her second to your thing of the day. She'd probably take it, too. Already does, always did. God knows she didn't know how to handle me putting her first. Before work. Before everything." Now, Brumby sounded downright dejected. "She's not used to that. I think that's why you're a safe choice for her. Always just out of reach, always just short of caring enough about her. Gives her room to rent out to her insecurities."

Brumby really did talk a lot, Harm thought absently. When Brumby's words registered, though, Harm's thoughts came into focus, and his resentment sharpened. What the hell give Brumby the right to sermonize about her? To him? Under the slight haze of inebriation, he knew he was angry as hell. But he couldn't muster enough of himself for it to show.

"I already gave it all up. For her." He sniped, trying to defend himself but not quite knowing why he felt the need to.

"What?" Brumby actually looked surprised, and almost fell off his stool.

Harm smirked, gloating. He ignored that tiny itty-bitty part of him that reminded him that for all his gloating, he hadn't really gotten what he'd set out for. "All of it." He said again, this time a little sadly.

"You gave it all up for her, and she turned you down?" Brumby sounded more incredulous than Harm had ever heard him.

"Yup." He nodded. "Resigned my commission and she ran to Webb."

"The spook?" Brumby sounded even more incredulous, Harm noted distantly.

"That's the one." He nodded again.

"Wait, wait." Mic waved his bottle in the air. "I thought you said you were still at JAG? Or have I had too many?"

"Got reinstated." Harm took a swig of his beer. "They were a man – well, woman, actually – short."

"Why'd you agree to go back?" Mic was frowning so intently, Harm thought his face might just freeze in that expression. The thought was amusing, so Harm laughed.

"Didn't expect to lose my job in the first place." He answered Mic's question, again feeling smug and again ignoring that tiny itty-bitty voice in his head.

"I thought you gave it up for her." Mic tapped the lip of his bottle against his forehead. "You're making my head hurt."

"CIA mission she was part of went sour." Harm frowned as he tried to sort out the details in his mind. His brain felt like cotton. "Chegwidden denied me leave. I resigned."

Brumby laughed. "Oh, I get it. So this was a heat of the moment thing?"

"Yeah. It was hot down there." Harm supplied, finding the question odd. What did the weather matter.

"And you didn't tell her about it beforehand? Tell Sarah." Brumby sounded like he was about to break into giggles. Harm looked up at him and frowned.

"Kinda hard to given that she was missing in action."

"And then what?" Now Brumby was facing Harm as he watched him intently – as intently as a guy who'd drank … how much had they drank? Harm couldn't remember. Which probably meant it was time to stop. He never drank like this. Never. He hated that word. He signalled to the bartender for another.

"Then what nothing's what." Harm responded petulantly. "We came back. Admiral booted me—"

"I thought you resigned?" Mic asked the most annoying questions. Harm decided to ignore him.

"And so I flew for the CIA until I got canned there. Did some odds and ends, then JAG needed me back."

"Blimey. Quite a resume you have there." Brumby turned back around to face the counter. Harm dimly noted that Mic was nursing this last bottle, and hadn't ordered another. Ha, Harm thought happily. He won.

"What's that?" He realized Mic had asked him something.

"How'd Sarah take you flying for the CIA?" Mic repeated.

Harm shrugged. "Didn't keep in touch."

"What?" Brumby again swivelled his seat to face Harm, who was starting to feel dizzy at having to witness all the movement. "She didn't keep in touch?"

"She wasn't interested." Harm shrugged again.

"What? She didn't call you? That doesn't sound like her … what the hell happened on that mission? Must've—"

"She did." Harm cut Mic off, not wanting to think about what happened on that forsaken mission.

"What?" Brumby frowned again, confused. His eyes were just a little out of focus.

"She did call me." Harm clarified.

"I think I need to cut you off." Mic said slowly, "You aren't making any sense."

"You're the one slurring your words. Maybe you're the one not making sense." Harm threw back. He could hold his drink with the best of them.

They both sat in silence until Brumby suddenly sat straighter in his chair. He turned to face Harm.

"So how'd she take it when you told her you resigned your commission for her?"

"Didn't." Harm said curtly.

"What?"

"I didn't tell her." Harm enunciated more carefully. His tongue felt heavy and slow. "Not exactly. It kinda slipped out in conversation. Sort of."

Brumby laughed out loud, at that. Harm scowled. It wasn't funny.

"We are more alike than you think." Mic shared a conspiratorial look with Harm.

"Shut up." That set Harm's ire up. He and Brumby were as alike as … as night … and … as night and … hell, they were nothing alike.

"We both resigned our commissions for her, without telling her." Mic pointed out proudly. "She didn't appreciate it either time." He paused, then smirked. "Although I did fare better than you."

"How?" Harm looked at Mic, waiting for an answer. God knows he could use some tips on dealing with that puzzle of a woman.

"She practically reamed me a new one that night for resigning. I didn't tell her. Didn't discuss it with her. I think I lost a layer of skin at the chewing out I got. But I just stood there and waited. She vented her anger – she really is something when she's all fired up, isn't she? – then I told her," Brumby turned to Harm and put up a finger to underscore his words. "I loved her and would do about just about anything just to be with her." Brumby sighed, and his gaze went distant and happy as he got lost in the memory.

Harm tried his damndest not to imagine what exactly had happened that night. He could be honest – in fact, given how much he'd had to drink, he wondered if he even had a choice at this point – and say that his attraction to Sarah MacKenzie, well at least the physical part, really spiked when she was all passionate about a case or chewing out the hapless victims who crossed her.

Harm was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Brumby chuckle.

"What did you do, Rabb? Leave with your tail tucked between your legs. And all this time I thought you knew your way around women. This just proves me right…"

"Shut up, Brumby." The accusation had Harm seeing red. He gripped his bottle tightly and tried to count to ten.

"…Besides your looks, you don't have much going for you." Brumby continued, apparently unaware of how close he was to getting the shit beat right out of him.

"I said: shut the hell up, Brumby." Harm stood up unsteadily from his stool.

Brumby turned to Harm, surprised. "Hold it right there, mate. It's nothing pers—"

Harm rammed his shoulder into Mic – not as satisfying as a solid punch, but he wasn't so sure he wouldn't miss his target given his current state – and managed to shove him off his stool. Mic stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. He quickly stood, squared himself as best he could and pulled back to take a swing at Harm.

Before Mic could launch his punch and before Harm could wind up to shove Brumby right back onto his six, both were hauled out of the bar by a very large and very muscled bouncer, and thrust out onto the sidewalk. They staggered a bit as they tried to find their footing, all the while exchanging angry glares.

Once each had found their land legs, they stood still a couple of meters apart and glared at each other.

Suddenly, the absurdity of the entire situation hit Harm full force: he began to laugh. After a silent moment of looking nothing short of stunned, Mic joined in. They shared a slightly amused, slightly embarrassed laugh for a few moments, before Harm took a step towards Mic, one hand outstretched. Mic took Harm's hand in his own and shook it.

"You need to figure out what it is you want, Rabb, and then go and get it." Mic slurred as his parting words.

Harm nodded, and responded in kind. "You'll find someone, Mic. And you'll make her happy."

Mic nodded his acknowledgment, then turned and left. Harm watched him stagger away, and gave Mic's words some thought.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

He had to go and get it. Harm nodded resolutely, and the vigorous motion almost made him lose his balance.

Tomorrow, he decided. He'd go and get it tomorrow.

Resolution made, Harm began stumbling his way home.

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	2. Amends and Breaks

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: In my defence: three conversations, three corners to a triangle … Have fun with this part, okay?

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**Three Conversations**

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**Two: Amends and Breaks**

Mac's Apartment

Saturday

1653 Local

Mac stood in her kitchen, buttering a slice of bread and trying not to think too much, even though she knew that she'd have to start doing some serious thinking soon. Equally well, she knew that once she started doing just a little thinking, it would all come out and she had no idea if she'd be able to put a lid on it enough to get through the workday. If only hearts and minds followed schedules as strictly as the military. Life would be a lot easier to manage.

A knock sounded on Mac's door, causing her to frown. She wasn't expecting anyone.

She put down the butter knife and slice of bread, and made her way to her front door. The sight that welcomed her at the other end of the peephole made her jaw drop in surprise. Mac yanked her door open to confirm her sighting. She was half convinced she'd imagined seeing him—

"Mic! What on earth …" Nope. No imagining. Mic Brumby in the flesh. She had no idea how to react to seeing his familiar form. She grinned, then laughed her disbelief, then frowned, then shook her head. This was unbelievable.

"Hello, Sarah." He paused and let out a deep breath. "Blimey, it's good to see you."

She stared at him, too busy trying to pick her jaw off the floor and tame her facial expressions to formulate a response. What the hell was he doing here? She hadn't seen or heard from him in years, ever since the airport. Her surprise at seeing him was replaced by a lingering sadness as she remembered that night. The look on his face when he was leaving her … it was still etched into a corner of her heart.

"You look even more beautiful." His eyes were on hers, shining with a happiness that had often been there when he was around her. "I like the hair," He reached out and flicked some of the locks resting on her shoulder.

A blush rose to her cheeks and the room suddenly seemed too warm. What the hell? She cleared her throat, wishing she had some kind of armour against the strange feelings that seeing him again was provoking. It was an odd thought, and it caught her off guard.

"Um, come in." She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter, not knowing how else to shake the awkwardness. He didn't seem to notice, or maybe he chose not to – she couldn't tell.

"So, how've you been?" He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. It was an act he had performed countless times all those years ago. Seeing it again threw her for a loop.

"Okay. You?" She couldn't seem to find her mental footing. Well, at least she now knew from personal experience that meeting ex-lovers, almost-husbands after years of silence was more awkward than meeting former-lovers, still-husbands after years of absence.

"I'm doing a lot better now, luv." He gave her a sincerely happy grin.

"Mic," she warned, feeling too off-balance to field his strong personality. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. I've missed you. I miss you." He sounded wistful; it put her on guard.

"Mic." She did not like where this conversation was going. He had left. He'd made up his mind. She'd learned to live with it. She was not opening up that musty old box.

He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not asking for anything here, Sarah. Just a chance to catch up with an old friend."

She eyed him warily. He'd used the same lines about no demands when they'd first met. And then he'd tried to cop a feel and kiss her on her couch.

"I didn't bring dinner this time, so you know I'm telling the truth." He grinned at her and she raised an eyebrow, amused. His uncomplicated good humour had been one of the qualities that had endeared him to her. And it had been years since they'd last met – she certainly didn't hold a grudge. Apparently, though, she still held a certain fondness. Natural, she supposed, given that they had almost married.

"C'mon, Sarah. Give a bloke a chance."

She shook her head at his persistence. Some things never changed.

"Alright. You're granted a furlough." She pointed her finger at him. "But that's it. Something to drink? Eat?" She headed towards the kitchen.

"You having anything?"

She stopped in her tracks and turned to study him, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"What's wrong?" He took two steps towards her, his arm reached out for her. Another action he'd performed often all those years ago. Except this time, to her relief, he didn't touch her.

"I, ah," she debated not telling him, but then changed her mind. "I was actually making fairy bread …"

He'd been the one to introduce her to the wonders of fairy bread. She loved the stuff, and whenever she used to ask him to make her some, he'd invariably grin like he'd figured out the meaning of life.

He burst into laughter. "You still eat that? You know, my nephew outgrew it just last year. You're something else, luv."

She laughed with him, relieved that he hadn't taken her love of fairy bread as a sign of his place in her life. Maybe he was just here to catch up.

"They're just about the greatest snack food on the face of the earth." She informed him. "Your nephew doesn't know what he's giving up on."

He was still laughing, but his eyes held an intent sadness she'd only ever seen at that airport, by the departures gate. "We rarely do, Sarah. We rarely do."

She turned away towards the kitchen, not ready to think about giving up on things, not when the mess with Clay and Harm and endometriosis was still a fresh wound.

"So, can I interest you in some fairy bread?" She asked. He'd followed her into the kitchen and was leaning against the counter, watching her. She waited for his answer, knife in hand.

"Just try and get me to refuse." He winked at her. His resilient good humour once again back in place. "I'll get the chocolate milk."

She spread the butter along the slice of white bread and tried to think of something to say. Was he back with the RAN? Was he still a civilian? Was he happy? Did he blame her? Had she ruined everything he had worked for?

She couldn't bring herself to ask. What if she couldn't live with the answers.

"So, you're still at JAG?" He was moving around her kitchen seamlessly. Apparently, he still remembered where she kept her glasses and spoons and the chocolate syrup. She wondered if she should re-organize her cupboards.

"Yeah. Still there." She recalled the easy air in the office that he probably remembered. Things had changed. She tried to shake her sudden sadness.

"Is it the same crew?" He asked, engrossed in his task of making chocolate milk.

"Chegwidden retired. We have a Marine CO. It's …different with him."

"What's AJ up to these days?"

She shrugged. "Last I heard he was spending time with his daughter. He hasn't kept in touch. His last year of command was hard – for everyone. I think he took it personally. He'll probably resurface at some point."

She wondered why she even offered so many details of the Admiral's – Chegwidden's – last year at JAG to Mic. Then she remembered how much they shared with each other. One of the perks of the initial long distance aspect of their relationship, she supposed, was that they really had perfected the art of talking. His openness with her had led her try and be open with him, too. She could admit she hadn't been too successful, not about the really important stuff, but she'd tried. Or so she told herself.

She wondered what things would have been like if they had married. Would she have gone to Paraguay? Harm's decision not to share his worries over Singer probably wouldn't have bothered her so much. Would she be a mother, by now? Would she still be at JAG? What if, what if, what if.

Her last couple of years would definitely not have been so harrowing. Of that, she was certain. Mic was so easygoing. She was a worrier, tended to blow things out of proportion, take things personally, but he'd had this incredible knack for saying just the right thing and smiling and suddenly her worries hadn't seemed so big or so worrying. Was that what happiness was? The thought was jarring.

"Everything okay?" His voice cut through her thoughts.

She realized that she was still buttering the same slice of bread.

"Yeah. Fine. Sorry, I drifted for a moment."

Mac picked up the jar of hundreds-and-thousands and sprinkled them onto the slices of buttered bread. She smiled triumphantly when none of the sprinkles spilled onto the plate.

"You must make a lot of this to have such precise aim." He commented as he stood beside her, stirring the chocolate syrup into the milk.

"It's all about practice, Mic." She grinned. "You bring the chocolate milk." She picked up the plate of fairy bread and headed to the couch.

"Mic." She set the plate down on the coffee table, unable to keep the questions to herself any longer.

He looked at her, glasses still in hand, and waited.

"What about you? Really."

"I reactivated my commission." He began slowly. "I'm with the RAN."

She let out a sigh of relief. "And … you're happy? You're okay?"

He put down the glasses of milk and stepped towards her. Tentatively, he took her hands in his. The familiarity of the long-faded gesture comforted her. The fact that she felt comforted unsettled her.

"Sarah-"

A knock sounded at her door.

They both glanced towards origin of the sound.

"I should get that. I'll just be a sec." She gave him an apologetic look and pulled her hands away from him. Gratitude wrestled with annoyance towards whoever was knocking: on the one hand, she wasn't sure she was ready to hear what Mic had to say; on the other, she was curious about what Mic had to say.

She opened the door just a little and stuck her head out.

"Harm!" Aw, shit, she thought, dismayed. Talk about bad timing. This just took the cake.

"Hey, Mac." He looked exhilarated and focussed. She frowned: was it already time for his quals?

"Umm. Am I interrupting?" He mirrored her frown, and she realized that she was still holding the door half open, with just her head sticking out.

"Ah, no. Well, actually, I don't know …" Argh. She turned back to the couch and saw Mic pick up a piece of fairy bread. She should just tell Harm. Hell, she needed to tell someone. It was surreal that Mic, of all people, was sitting on her couch eating fairy bread. How exactly would Harm react to Mic's presence? She couldn't decide. But she did know that just swinging the door open with a 'Tah-dah!' wouldn't be appropriate.

"Just one sec, Harm. One sec." She closed the door and took a few steps towards the couch.

"Mic? I need to just … take care of this." She waved her hand in the direction of the door. "Can you excuse me for a minute? Sorry about the interruption."

"No worries, luv. But I won't promise there'll be any fairy bread left when you come back." He grinned.

"Thanks. I won't be long." Knowing that he was back with the RAN made some of the residual years-long guilt fade. Now, she just needed to hear that he was happy.

But first: Harm.

--

Harm watched in surprise as Mac shut the door on his face. What the hell? What was she doing in there? She rarely shut doors to his face, even when she was angry.

The door opened again and Mac stepped out into the hallway. He tried to get a glimpse inside her apartment, but she shut the door behind her before he could make out much of anything.

He looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

"That was …" she trailed off and stared towards the elevator. "It's surreal."

"What? Is everything okay?" He was alarmed by the odd expression on her face. It was as though she couldn't decide what she was feeling.

She shook her head slowly and then looked at him. She glanced at her shut door and shook her head again.

"Harm." She was whispering like she had a secret she wasn't sure anyone would believe if she shared.

"What, Mac?" he was whispering, too. Although he wasn't sure why.

"_Mi__c'_s in there." She continued with hushed disbelief

WHAT? Harm's eyes widened, his jaw fell open. That son of bitch.

"I can't believe it." She was once again staring at her door, wide-eyed, so she missed his reaction. "Can you believe it? He just stopped by to say hi."

Like hell he did. Harm struggled to find his voice. That bastard.

"He's back with the RAN." Mac continued. "Re-activated his commission. I'm so relieved."

Asshole. Harm's anger was overshadowed by the realization that Mac actually looked pleased. No. No. He tried to quell the sudden panic that squeezed his heart and punched his gut. This could not … She couldn't do this to him. Not again.

He took a step back, ready to leave her hallway, her building, her. He tried to come up with an excuse for leaving, but just as quickly changed his mind. Wait. Why the hell should he be the one to leave? He took a step towards her front door. Why the hell should he leave. And Brumby. Asshole. After last night's conversation … Harm turned to stare at Mac. And Christ, what about her? How could she be pleased to see Brumby? They were supposed to be making progress. Harm decided he'd reached his limit on the 'giving space' and 'being understanding' bullshit. Enough. No more. Last straw.

He grabbed Mac by the shoulders and none-too-gently moved her aside. Then he swung her front door open and marched into her apartment.

"Asshole." He pointed a finger at Brumby, his anger making it hard for him to think straight. Hidden somewhere under his fury, he could hear his more rational side wonder at what the hell he was doing. Mac was going to kill him.

Brumby stood up, confused. "What the—"

"Get. Out." Harm pointed his finger to the front door.

Brumby was just watching him, wide-eyed and unmoving.

"You have nerve, _buddy_." Harm ground out between clenched teeth.

"Harm? What are you doing?" Distantly, he heard Mac's voice, full of shock and confusion and astonishment. It was enough, though, to draw his attention.

He whipped around to face her, crossing his arms over his chest confrontationally.

"And _you_," he sneered in accusation.

Her jaw dropped, eyes widened in surprise.

"_You_," He repeated. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't decide what word to start with. He shut his mouth firmly, then tried again. Nothing came out. He had no idea how to go about expressing just how angry and hurt and disappointed and furious and incensed and livid and enraged and goddamn pissed he was right now. His inability to say anything just served to infuriate him further.

--

Mac stared at Harm, thinking that no word existed in English, Farsi, Russian or Japanese to convey just how shocked she was by his behaviour. What the hell was this? Where did this come from?

She counted 53 seconds of silent staring, with Harm's mouth occasionally opening and then closing, before Brumby – bless him for trying to walk right into the line of fire – tried to step in.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding, mate."

Mac's shock only deepened when Harm shot Mic that could've melted glass. "Stay out of this, Brumby. Right where you belong."

Mac was pretty sure that if Harm hadn't been raised with such a strong code of honour, he would have spit at Mic at that moment. She couldn't begin to compute what was happening in front of her.

"And to think, Mic," Harm continued, his words clipped by fury and derision, "That I thought you were a decent guy." Harm turned again to look at Mac. She could feel his anger, but there was something else in his eyes…

"Harm," she ventured, trying to diffuse the situation. She didn't think Mic would be able to control his temper for much longer, and with Harm already too far gone, she didn't want them coming to blows over her coffee table.

"_You_." Harm repeated, cutting her off, his tone all vitriol.

Mac decided she'd had enough of his inexplicable behaviour. And if he didn't want to listen, she'd just have to talk without letting him interrupt.

"Me what, Harm?" She tried to adopt a reasonable tone. "What about you? What the hell are you doing? He just stopped by to say hi." What was wrong with him … It suddenly occurred to her that he might once again be pulling out his stupid, jealousy-induced 'I'm-interested-in-you' act because he thought she was going to throw herself at Mic. The thought infuriated her. _That_ was what had him breaking out the me-Tarzan, you-Jane act? _That_? Of all the … Did he think so little of her?

"I can't believe you!" She exploded, before quickly reining it in. She definitely didn't want to give Mic a floor show more than she wanted shred Harm to pieces. "If you want to stay and catch up with Mic," she continued in a more level tone, costing her every ounce of self-control, "You're more than welcome. If you want to badger me or him, you can leave." She crossed her arms and waited for his answer.

Harm's eyes darkened, she watched as he ground his jaw.

"I don't know why I bother." He finally responded. Each word was calm and measured - one part blazing anger, two parts cold fury. "Do whatever the hell you want. It's your life." With that, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.

Mac stared at the closed door, hands clenched by her side, and tried to keep herself from hunting him down and ripping into him. Insufferable jerk. She needed to hit something, and hard. She should've installed a punching bag in her apartment right after her first case with Rabb. Jerk.

Mac took six, deep, not-so-calming, not-so-cleansing breaths. Jerk. He was damn infuriating. Jumping to conclusions. Assuming the worst of her. Thinking less of her regard for him than either of them deserved. Jerk.

She walked over to her couch and threw herself down, arms crossed, scowling. Irrational, mean idiot of a jerk. He never thought before he spoke. Jerk. Just said whatever the hell came to mind, consequences be damned. Jerk.

--

Harm sat in his car, slamming the door behind him. Ass. Brumby was an ass. And Mac. To hell with it.

He angrily turned his key in the ignition. She could have him. She could do whatever she wanted, hell if he cared. He couldn't believe what she doing. Just standing there with Mic in her apartment looking all … he frowned. What had she looked like? Outside her apartment, she'd looked overwhelmed. And relieved. Inside her apartment, she'd looked shocked at his outburst. Then angry at his outburst.

"Hell with it." He muttered to himself. He looked up at her apartment building through his windshield one last time before gunning it right out of Georgetown.

--

"Are you okay?" She heard Mic's voice, soft and gentle. She'd forgotten he was here.

"Jerk." She muttered, arms still crossed. Her scowl deepened.

Mic pulled back, surprised. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't think…" he trailed off.

Mac suddenly realized Mic was talking to her. "What? No. Him." She jerked her head towards the door. "Jerk." She repeated for good measure.

"He means well." Mic stared at the closed door for a moment before adding, "I think."

She looked at him askance. Was he trying to comfort her? She decided this was the most bizarre situation she'd ever found herself in. She turned her stare back on the unsuspecting coffee table. Jerk.

--

Harm sat in his car, parked right outside Mac's building and with a clear view of the entrance. He'd made it the end of her street before realizing that he'd overreacted just a tad. After everything Mac had been through – with Brumby, specifically, but even since then – did he really think she'd give the man another chance? Hardly, Harm scoffed. Hell, she was barely giving _him_ a chance and he hadn't just upped and left her without a word … Okay, maybe he was a pot. Damn kettle. Well, whatever: It wasn't as bad as what Brumby had done to her. Ass. At least he hadn't promised to spend a life with her and then upped and left her.

The thought gave him pause. He dropped his head onto the steering wheel, and wished he had something heavier – say a mallet – to hit himself upside the head with. If either of them were just able to see beyond their own damned noses, then he would have promised her just that in Paraguay and she would have promised him just that on the stupid beach outside stupid Webb's stupid house in stupid Manderley.

Harm straightened in his seat with renewed resolve. He was a man of action. So he was going to act. He was going to give Mic 25 minutes – he set the alarm on his watch – to get the hell out of that building before he went in there himself to haul Mic the hell out and tell Sarah MacKenzie—

His thoughts screeched to a halt. What the hell was he going to tell her? Well, he had – he glanced at his watch – 24 minutes and 15 seconds to figure that out and rehearse his delivery. Piece of cake.

--

Mac simmered in her anger and exasperation for a little while longer, and was ready to do it for a whole lot of while longer, when she suddenly felt Mic pry her hands from where she had them tightly crossed over her arms. He held her hands in his, before resting them on his knee.

"Mic," She warned, unsure of where he was going with this.

"Sarah," He began. "When I left—"

"Mic." She warned again, pretty certain she was not ready to hear this. She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them firmly.

"I need to say this, Sarah, please. And you need to hear it. I don't want you putting me in the same thoughts your mother's in. And after … what just happened. You need to hear this."

She nodded silently, and looked down at her lap while she blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. She thought she was all done with being all teary over people leaving. She _was_ done getting all teary-eyed over people leaving, she told herself. She was convinced she was done crying over him leaving. And the reasons behind his leaving… She tried not to look at the door through which Harm had just stormed out.

"When I left, I was hurting. I didn't handle it the best way, and I'm sorry for that, Mac." He paused to collect himself, it was another gesture she recognized. "But at the time, everything I'd let myself believe just fell apart. You know, early on, as we got to know each other better, I thought that you were so reserved, holding back, reluctant because of all you'd been through when you were young. I thought you were trying to protect yourself, even though I'd as soon cut off my arm than do anything I thought wasn't good for you. And I thought that when you came to trust me, you'd let me in."

It was the second time in such a short span of time that a man was saying those words to her. She tried not to think of Harm and how it'd felt when it was his hands holding hers.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Mic continued. "I always thought that if I'd met you before Rabb, and if I'd convinced you to wear my ring, he wouldn't have stood a chance."

"Mic…" She struggled to find some kind of solid ground in his confession.

"Thing is, I came into the game late, even if I refused to admit it at the time." He didn't acknowledge her interruption, instead continuing in earnest. "You'd already been through so much with him. He helped you through some important times in your life, and that tied you to him, whether he'd ever admit it or not. It made you care for him in ways you weren't able to care for me, and love him in ways you can't love anyone else."

He paused again and waited until she looked at him. He searched her eyes, her heart. "You're still waiting for him, aren't you?" He asked gently, ruefully.

"What? No." She replied startled. Her response was just this side of too forceful. "No. That ship has sailed, Mic."

"It's permanently docked, luv." He grinned at her, but sobered with his next sentence. "You remember, that night, you went to Rabb first … You've both seen each other through a lot; don't ignore that. Whatever it is that has him thinking you're not interested in him, you have to let that go and let him in."

The third time, now, that she was hearing those words.

"Mic, why are you doing this?" She'd always thought Mic wasn't that complicated a person. Pretty easy to read. But this here completely blew her away. It seemed unlike him, and yet not.

"Years bring wisdom, luv." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Besides, I want to see you happy."

"Mic." She didn't know what to say. She also suspected he wasn't revealing the whole truth.

"And I ran into Rabb yesterday." He added reluctantly. He looked more than mildly concerned about her reaction to the revelation.

"What?!" She exclaimed startled, pulling her hands from his. She stared at Mic before looking at the front door. Harm's behaviour suddenly seemed a lot clearer. "That explains ... that." She indicated the door with a wave of her hand. She sighed and drew her feet onto the couch, hugging her knees.

"It probably does." He confirmed.

The gloating note in his voice earned him a reproachful look from Mac.

"Mic!" She berated, although she would admit that she would have been just a little amused at how irrationally Harm had reacted, if not for the fact that he was genuinely angry with her. God alone knew how much work it would take to placate him. The last time Harm had been that angry had been when he'd revealed Mattie – he'd called her a screw-up. The time before that had been a taxi stand – he'd ignored her for five months. She dropped her head heavily onto her knees, and closed her eyes as a bone-wearying exhaustion claimed her. She couldn't deal with this anymore. The emotional rollercoaster that typified her relationship with Harm. But she knew she wouldn't be able to rest easy until they put this argument to bed. Or shoved it under the bed and out of sight. Either way.

"Sorry, Mac." Mic sounded genuinely repentant. But she knew him better than that.

She sighed again, and her amusement at the absurdity of this situation shone through despite herself. "No you're not." She cracked open one eye to look at him as he sat next to her.

"No, I'm not." He grinned then, his signature Mic smile – self-assured and happy and sincere – the one that made things seem so simple and surmountable. She decided to believe that things could be as they seemed. The alternative was way too unpleasant.

"Rabb and I bumped into each other last night, had a few drinks." He volunteered. "The bloke's all broken up over you."

Mac lifted her head in alarm. She ran her hands through her hair, and then hugged her knees even closer.

"I … I didn't … what?" She couldn't look at Mic.

"No worries, luv." He tried to reassure her. "10 to 1 he'll be back before the weekend's out."

"I wish I could share in your optimism." She again glanced at the door.

Mic laughed at her, and she shook her head in wonder at his reaction. Mr Resilient. It was good to see him, she decided. Although he'd probably just added another truckload to the mountainous pile of things she had to think about. She and Mic, Mac decided, definitely made better friends than almost-spouses. She realized that in all the hullabaloo, she hadn't gotten an answer to her original question.

"Mic. Are you happy?" She turned to face him, watching him carefully, sure that she could still tell when he was being less than completely honest.

He covered her hands with his and let his eyes roam her face. Mac froze as he leaned in towards her, lightly rubbed his nose against hers, and then kissed the corner of her mouth. Another familiar gesture: it was how he used to kiss her goodbye in the mornings.

"I am now." He whispered as he pulled away. He broke out into a wide smile that reached deep into his eyes.

"Goodbye, Beautiful." He winked.

"Goodbye, Mic." She grinned.


	3. The One that Counts

--

Disclaimer: Don't own'em.

A/N: Some interesting mixed views on Mic. And no: I cannot hook Mic'n'Mac up! I don't think the muse would cooperate in such an endeavour. This part wraps up the story. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

--

--

**Three Conversations**

**--**

**--**

**Three: The One That Counts**

Outside Mac's Apartment

Saturday

1739 Local

"Mac, I…"

No, no. That wouldn't do.

"Sarah, I…"

No. That wouldn't do either: he rarely called her that. In fact, he only called her that when things were serious and he didn't how to tell her what he needed to say. This time, though, he knew what he needed to say. That's why he was sitting in his car outside her building rehearsing whatever the hell it was he needed to say.

Take it from the top.

"Mac. We…"

No, no. That wouldn't do.

"Sarah. We…"

No. That wouldn't do either.

Shit. He'd been going in circles now for – he glanced at his watch – 18 minutes 20 seconds. What the hell. It'd been almost twenty minutes? He still didn't even know how to start, dammit.

Okay, Hammer. Don't panic. He now had – he glanced at his watch – six minutes and, hold on … subtract that … carry over the one … No. Wait. He shook his head. That wasn't right. He glanced at his watch again. Shit. Now he had five minutes and … Focus, Hammer, he scolded himself. Focus. Harm shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Take it from the top.

"Mac. I know you told me you'd come to me."

There that sounded okay.

"And I know you do come to me when you want to talk, or for perspective. Like when Brumby left—"

Whoa, there. Bad idea. Don't bring that up. He hadn't been able to talk and she'd gone as far as she could from him to get perspective all by herself.

From the top.

"Mac. I know you told me you'd come to me. And you do usually come to me, when you want to talk."

Christ. That was terrible. Deplorable. Pitiful. Dreadful. Appalling.

From the top.

"Mac. I know—"

Harm halted in mid-sentence when he caught sight of Brumby exiting Mac's building, alone, and heading down the street towards the Metro station. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was more relieved than any human being had a right to be. He glanced up at Mac's window. Now he had to go up there and face her. Shit. Maybe he should just come back tomorrow. Sleep on it. Draft a speech.

The alarm on Harm's watch sounded, marking the passage of 25 minutes. Harm frowned. That was 25 minutes gone without her knowing that he'd already let her in and made promises and sweeping declarations and now was actually ready to follow through. And let her know about it.

No more minutes without her knowing, he resolved.

Harm took another deep breath. Relax. He gripped his hands on his staring wheel. Focus. He stared at his knuckles where they gripped the wheel. Go. He nodded briskly to himself and got out of his car. He shut the door and walked with a purposeful gait into Mac's building and, hopefully, her life.

--

Mac stood in her kitchen, finally able to clean up after her late afternoon snack. She figured she might as well get cracking on all that thinking. No time like the present. She'd have all of tomorrow and then she'd just pack it in for Monday morning. And after the mini-drama in her living room, and her talk with Mic, she had a little more confidence that she would be able to pack it in. Life, after all, moved right along whether you wanted to move with it or not. She was going to get back into the fray and this time, try and hang on just a little tighter. This wasn't going to beat her.

And she needed to talk to Harm. He deserved an explanation for Mic's presence, and he especially needed one given what he apparently thought was going on. Jerk – No. Mac shook her head, berating herself for being so harsh with him. He was being as patient as he could be, after all, given his general tendency to grab life by the horns, beat it into submission and, if things didn't turn out his way, start the process over. And then to find Mic at her place. Oh lord, did he ever deserve an explanation.

Mac started rinsing the dishes in the sink. Maybe she ought to take a page out of Harm's book. Why try to hold on for the ride when she could instead grab hold of life and beat it into submission. That's what she would do. Pummel life until it looked how she wanted it to look. Damn straight, she told the plate she was rinsing. Easier said than done, the plate responded. Mac stared at the plate.

A knock sounded at Mac's door, jerking her attention away from the plate. She tensed. Oh, no.

She wiped her hands and made her way to the door. She wasn't done thinking yet. She wasn't ready. Please let it be a kid selling cookies, she silently begged whatever force ran this dysfunctional universe.

Mac looked through the peephole. Harm. Stupid dysfunctional universe. She couldn't make out his mood through the viewer. Oh, boy. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Harm." She swallowed. Tried to smile. Felt incredibly nervous.

He stood still and stared at her.

"Mac. I…" He trailed off, and then shook his head briskly. He cleared his throat.

"Sarah, we…" He stopped again, this time looking just a little flustered and worried.

Mac watched him in silence. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd called her by her given name. It just wasn't something he did. And never when he was upset with her.

"You want to, uh, come in?" She held the door open wider and stood to the side. Eloquent, MacKenzie. Nice one.

He purposefully entered her apartment. Once inside, he turned on his heel and looked at her.

"Mac," he began. "You told me, I know … I mean, that is, I know you told me…" He trailed off again and rubbed a hand through his hair, then roughly over his face.

She watched, knowing what he was trying to do, and knowing equally well what she had to do. She'd show that plate what she was made of.

"Hey, are you busy?" She asked, issuing an invitation and a request, and hoping he'd get the message.

By the way his entire demeanour brightened after only the briefest of pauses, she guessed that he did.

"No." He said quickly. "You want some tea?" He looked relieved and pleased, and was already backing his way towards her kitchen. His eyes didn't leave hers.

She grinned, elated and relieved. "Sure." She replied, following him, trying to sound like she was saying yes to a hot beverage, and not to having every single one of her deepest wishes granted.

He set about making the tea, standing beside her, while she took out the mugs. So far, so good, she told herself. Now to actually get the conversation going. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he pulled the package of tea out of her cupboard. He'd knocked on her door three minutes and 14 seconds after she'd shut it behind Mic. That could only mean…

"You came back," she said, setting the mugs on the counter.

"I never left," he replied while measuring out the loose tea leaves.

She leaned back against the counter and watched as he put tea leaves into the infuser.

"I'm glad," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stopped and looked at her, offering that slow, sweet smile that made all her worries fade like shadows in the sunlight. She slid along the counter, until her hip barely touched his leg, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, and let out a slow breath.

She felt his other arm settle around her waist. He shifted them so that he was leaning with his back to the counter, holding her firmly in his embrace.

She didn't move, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "Everything went wrong." She began tentatively. "I couldn't stop it. I don't know what to do about it."

He rubbed one hand up and down her back. His other hand trailed through her hair, and came to rest on her nape.

"I'm…" She hesitated. "If I talk about it, I'm worried I won't be able to stop thinking about it."

"You have to deal with it, Mac. It'll eat you up, otherwise." His hands continued their soothing ministrations.

She nodded against his shoulder. "I know."

He sighed into her hair.

She nuzzled into his shoulder lightly. The small act was a comfort in itself. Feeling the friction of his shirt against her nose, and the strength of him beneath her forehead … smelling that fresh, warm, comforting scent that was so much him.

"Okay." She nodded one last time, then lifted her head. She studied his face carefully, her eyes roaming features she knew by heart. She already felt better.

"That was a good start," She offered, her relief audible.

"Good start," He nodded his agreement, and she knew he was hoping she would continue.

But she just needed one more thing before she could go much further.

"Could I, um…" She hesitated, not quite sure how to proceed. This was unchartered territory; it wasn't something she'd allowed herself before "Would you, um…"

She watched as his one eyebrow lifted in amusement and surprise at her discomfiture. Not that she could blame him. She'd rarely been at a loss for words with him. Grab life by the horns, Mackenzie. Show that plate who's boss.

She swiftly leaned up towards him and placed a quick, firm kiss on his lips. She pulled back and waited for his reaction, but before he'd really had the time react, she decided that she wasn't satisfied with how that kiss played out. She'd give it another go. She stood up on her toes, rested her hands on his shoulders and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips. This time she pulled back feeling exceptionally satisfied.

Before she'd had much time to bask in her satisfaction, he tightened his arms around her and pulled her right into him. Before she could even register the fact that their bodies were in full contact, he held her to him even more tightly and kissed her with a thorough, a deliberate, an overwhelming tenderness that melted away any reservations she may have been harbouring. He ended the kiss and – after returning for a couple more quick pecks – he pulled back looking extremely pleased with himself, with her, and, she would guess, with the entire situation. She felt the same way.

"So far, so good." She observed, biting her lip to tame the uncontrollable grin that threatened.

"Piece of cake." He replied, not bothering to hide his irrepressible grin. Reluctantly, he let go of her and turned to remove the whistling kettle from the burner. He poured the water into the teapot.

"About earlier, in the living room, with..." She trailed off when he turned to face her. Mac steeled herself, hoping he would trust that she was telling him the truth. "He wanted some closure..."

He waved away her explanation with his hand. "You don't have to … I overreacted." He grinned, looking embarrassed and apologetic.

"You did," She acknowledged, smiling. "But I understand."

"I'll stop doing that." He said sincerely.

She took a step closer to him.

"I've been distant." She rested her hands on his chest, and his arms encircled her waist.

"You have," He confirmed, then mirrored her earlier response. "But I understand."

"I'll stop doing that." She repeated his words.

They stood silently for a moment, just staring at each other.

"This is going well." She sought his confirmation.

"Swimmingly," He kissed her forehead, making her smile.

She looked at her hands where they rested on his chest, and absently picked at the top button of his shirt. "The endometriosis. I have all the documentation my doctor gave me on it ... if you want to take a look at it…"

"I do." He replied, and she could feel his relief flow from the steady beat of his heart to the tips of his fingers.

"And I'll take a look at what you found through your, um, research."

He placed another kiss on her forehead, held her tighter.

She kept picking at his button, still unable to look directly at him. "About Clay." She began slowly, choosing her words and trying to be a succinct as possible. "I wasted a lot of time. I lost a part of my life I'll never get back, and it hit me that I did it for all the wrong reasons."

"It wasn't a waste, Mac. Not if you came out with something you didn't go in with." She could feel him watching her.

"Platitude?" She looked up, surprised by his reply.

"Truth." It sounded to her like he really believed in what he was saying.

She studied him for a moment, and then nodded. She returned her gaze to his button. "I'm still working on dealing with—"

"We can take it easy, Mac, you and I." He said hastily, his voice low and sincere.

"Then I'll be wasting even more time." She said a little too forcefully. She took a calming breath. "I don't want to waste anymore time, and especially not because of him or that mission." Absently, she unfastened the second button on his shirt, and then re-fastened it.

"It won't be a waste of time."

"Why?" She smoothed out his shirt over his chest.

"Because I'll be with you through it. Because you'll be with me. Because we have a lifetime to build together."

Her eyes flew to his. She wasn't sure she'd heard correctly, or that he even meant it to sound the way it did. One look at his face, though, told her he'd said exactly what he meant.

"A lifetime?" She repeated, trying the word for fit. She couldn't begin to describe the warm, shimmery sensation that was expanding her heart right out of its confines.

"At least," He again smiled that slow, sweet smile of his, and suddenly she had full faith that everything would turn out just fine.

"At least," she whispered as she leaned in for another kiss, curious to know how that slow, sweet smile would feel against her lips, how it would taste.

She sighed when they pulled apart. A lifetime.

"This is going well." She was quite impressed with the two of them.

"Very well," He agreed, watching her with a warmth that enveloped her from head to toe. "It's good that we can talk to each other like this, you know."

She nodded, a bit unsure as to what he was hinting at.

"I can talk to you. You can talk to me." He continued.

"We can talk to each other," She supplied helpfully, finding his roundabout route to whatever he wanted to say diverting.

He grinned at her teasing. "That too."

"What are you trying to say, Harm." She figured this was still new; maybe he needed a little prompting.

"Nothing." He shrugged happily, his grin widening. "Just talking."

She laughed, thoroughly entertained by the delight in his voice and expression.

He rested his forehead against hers, and stole a quick kiss. He paused for a moment, studying her, and she watched the last remnants of seriousness fade from his eyes.

That was it? She frowned. The talk she'd been dreading, trying to avoid, trying to strategize for … She'd been expecting something terrible. But … that was it?

"So." She said, feeling slightly uncertain. Surely there had to be more. It had felt like a whole lot more just this morning.

"So." He repeated, now smiling from ear to ear, looking quite pleased and more relaxed than she'd seen him in awhile.

She was reminded of the thunderstorms in Arizona. They'd terrified her when she was a kid. She used to watch lightening pierce the night sky and then hold her breath, eyes squeezed shut, until the sharp crack of thunder tore through the foreboding silence. Only then did she release her breath and open her eyes so she could search for the next flash of lightening.

He must have noted her hesitancy, because he nudged her nose lightly with his in a playful gesture.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He asked.

It suddenly occurred to her that it wasn't Clay or Paraguay or even the endometriosis that was troubling her the most, but the consequences of her decisions and actions, consequences that she couldn't control. It had probably started somewhere with Mic, hell, maybe even earlier. This here with Harm, she knew, was going to be the right decision, regardless of what consequences came from it.

She exhaled heavily. "Not bad at all."

"Soooo." She stretched out the word, at a sudden loss as to what to do. They were apparently done talking. For now, she supposed. Stuff was bound to come up later, right? "Now what?"

He laughed at her, his tone teasing. "I didn't think this far ahead."

"Okay." She bit her lower lip. "We could drink the tea." She suggested.

"We could." He didn't make any move to release her.

"It'll get cold." She pointed out.

"We can make more." He still didn't move, just kept his gaze on her and his arms around her.

"Okay." She studied his face and tried not to blush under his intense stare. She wasn't used to being looked at quite like this. "Ah … we'll have to move at some point…"

"Nope. I'm not letting you get away." He broke out his trademark grin.

She was about to protest - they'd at least have to move to get dinner, not to mention the fact that they both had work tomorrow – when it occurred to her that there really was no place she'd rather be. So instead, she stayed right where she was, savouring the strength of his embrace, the comfort of his arms, and the peaceful quiet she'd only ever felt when he was near.

--

The End


End file.
